Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10) (23 page)

Emily hid her amusement. Bernard hadn’t been remotely sure what to make of the sudden changes in the commune, from Master Drake working with Master Wolfe to Master Bones actually knowing something useful. Emily rather suspected that he—and Robin—had their doubts, perhaps even wondered if their extensive education was about to become obsolete, although neither of them had said anything to
her
about it. Bernard was completely focused on Julianne, and Robin spent half of his time trying to flirt with Emily.

“He might,” Emily said, finally. “But he will be worried ...”

She sighed, inwardly, as Julianne cast a spell, lighting the fire under the cauldron. She’d grown more and more willing to use spells over the last few days, rather than struggle with tapers or ask one of the boys to light the fire for her. Emily didn’t blame her for
that
, but she did worry about Julianne absent-mindedly using magic in front of her father. She had no idea what Julianne intended to
say
to Whitehall, when he caught her, yet Emily knew he wouldn’t be pleased. And even if her theory about the Curse was correct ...

“Yes, he will,” Julianne said. There was a new firmness in her tone. “But he will just have to get used to it.”

There was a loud banging at the door. “Open up, now,” a voice snapped. “Julianne, open the door
now
!”

Emily’s blood ran cold. That was Whitehall’s voice.

Julianne glanced at Emily, her face suddenly very pale, then stood and walked towards the door. Emily realized, just as Julianne pulled back the latch and opened it, just how badly they’d screwed up. She’d grown too used to casting spells without any monitoring at all—without fearing that someone was going to complain about her practice—and forgotten that Master Wolfe had designed a ward to track magic within the castle. Locating the traps so they could be removed wasn’t its
only
use.

Shit
, she thought.

Whitehall stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, his face icy cold. He’d probably missed the earlier traces of magic on Julianne—just as he had problems detecting Emily’s magic—but he could sense them now. Julianne had just used a very simple spell, after all, and the residue hung in the air. Emily wondered, numbly, just
how
he would react to Julianne’s magic. He had to believe—he still had to believe—that Julianne would pay a high price for her powers.

“You used magic,” Whitehall said. It wasn’t really a question. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes, Father,” Julianne said, tonelessly.

Whitehall rounded on Emily. “Is this how you thank me? By teaching my daughter magic?”

“I asked her to teach me,” Julianne said, pleadingly. “Father ...”

“Be
silent
,” Whitehall snapped. The anger in his voice made Emily flinch. “Emily ...”

“I will not be silent,” Julianne said. She met her father’s gaze evenly, resting her hands on her hips. “Father, I asked her to teach me magic ...”

Whitehall’s face fell. No, he wasn’t really angry, Emily realized; he was too numb to be
really
angry. She’d expected everything from threats to beatings and banishments from the castle, but instead ... there was a dreadful numbness that left her feeling sorry for him, despite the certainty that they were both in big trouble.

“I hope you know what it will cost you,” Whitehall said, quietly. “Your mother would have been furious ...”

“She wouldn’t have been,” Emily said. “Master ...”

“I am your master,” Whitehall said. His voice hardened. “I accepted you as an apprentice, over the objections of my commune. And you repay me by costing my daughter her chance at children.”

The betrayal in his voice stung. He was wrong—Emily
knew
he was wrong. But it still stung. He had gone out on a limb for her, she knew all too well, and he had good reason to be angry at her. By his standards, if nothing else, she had betrayed him.

“I don’t believe I have,” she said, keeping her voice low. It would be easy to puff up and shout at him, but somehow she knew that would be disastrous. “Master, please will you let me explain?”

Whitehall eyed her for a long moment, then took a step backwards with visible effort, crossing his arms in front of him. “Explain.”

Emily took a moment to gather her thoughts. “The spells you use—the spells
most
of you use—are very poorly designed,” she said. “I believe Master Wolfe said as much.”

“He did,” Whitehall confirmed. “Continue.”

“Every time you cast one of those spells,” Emily added, “you get ... you get
slop
, magic spilling out from the spell in all directions. Many of the spells are actually designed to
encourage
slop. You’re ... you’re always doing things the hard way.”

Whitehall didn’t look pleased, but he nodded curtly for her to continue.

“That magic has an unfortunate effect on the human mind and body,” Emily continued, hoping desperately that he believed her. She knew it, but it was hard to explain. “Mentally, using such spells has an unfortunate effect on the caster’s mind. Magicians like Master Gila start going insane because they’re constantly using the same spells and damaging their minds. They may snap completely, one day, when they can no longer handle the magic.”

And when they try to take too much power at once
, she added, silently. She had no idea what had happened to Master Wolfe’s necromantic rite, but she knew—all too well—that it wouldn’t remain buried forever.
A single touch of necromancy is enough to drive anyone insane
.

“At first, it has a lesser effect on the body,” Emily added. “For men and women, the effects are seemingly minimal. But for both sexes, the magic damages their reproductive systems ...”

Julianne cleared her throat. “Emily, my father has a daughter,” she said. “Me.”

“Yes,” Emily said. She tried hard to be clinical. “But the male reproductive system is less fragile than the female system.”

Whitehall met her eyes. “In what way?”

Emily winced, inwardly. Just how much did they know already? Master Gila had never given the impression that he knew much about how the human body, male or female, actually
worked
. She might accidentally tell them something that altered history ...

She shook her head. She was well past the point where it mattered.

“The male ... constantly refreshes his supply of sperm,” she said. Lady Barb had told her that she might be called upon to explain the facts of life—despite her lack of experience—but she’d never envisaged explaining them to the founder of Whitehall School. “The damage may be quite considerable, yet the male may still be capable of fathering children.”

She took a breath. Julianne jumped in.

“I only know one magician who has more than two children,” she said. “Father ...”

“Be quiet,” Whitehall snapped. “Emily? Continue.”

“The female only has a limited supply of eggs,” Emily said. She forced her voice to stay even, despite Julianne’s incredulous look. She’d probably never realized that she laid eggs like a chicken. “Once they’re gone, they’re gone. And the sloppy magic is damaging them, rendering the woman infertile.”

“I see,” Whitehall said. His voice was deadly cold. “And you have rendered
my daughter
infertile?”

“No, Master,” Emily said. “The spells I taught her have no slop.”

Whitehall met her eyes. She felt the mental pressure a second later and concentrated on projecting impressions of sincerity at him. He would want to believe her, she was sure, yet he wouldn’t be too trusting. She
had
betrayed him, even if she didn’t want to admit it. It wouldn’t have been
that
difficult to go to him and ask, before she started.

But he might have said no
, she thought.

“I was taught how to build up my magic from the moment it developed,” Emily said. She was fairly sure that only
very
strong magicians, at least by her standards, ever learned how to use their powers without proper training. “There was never any
slop
, therefore there was no danger to ... to my ability to have children.”

Whitehall looked her up and down. “You have had no children,” he stated, bluntly.

Emily colored. “No,” she said. “But I could have children.”

“It will be true of Bernard too, Father,” Julianne said. “He might not be able to sire children.”

Whitehall rounded on her. “And are you sure,” he asked sharply, “that he will still want you if you have magic?”

“She’s been using magic for a long time,” Emily said, as Julianne’s face crumpled. Whitehall turned back to glower at her. “Many of those potions she makes require a trickle of magic to get them to work.”

Whitehall rubbed his forehead. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Master,” Emily said.

“I see,” Whitehall said. He glanced at Julianne. “Go back to your bedroom and wait for me there.”

Julianne shot Emily an unreadable look as she hurried to the door and vanished into the corridor, closing the door behind her. Emily met Whitehall’s eyes as best as she could, trying to calm herself. Whitehall had every right to be angry at her—and so did Bernard, perhaps—and if he wanted to punish her, she supposed he had that right. But at the same time ...

“You should have brought it to me,” Whitehall said, quietly. And yet she could hear an edge in his tone that told her he was keeping himself under strict control. “You are an apprentice. You had no right to teach anyone without my permission. And yet ...”

He sighed. “You’re no ordinary apprentice, are you?”

“No, Master,” Emily said.

She tasted a hint of despondency in his voice and shivered. Whitehall ... she thought Whitehall
wanted
to believe her. He
needed
to believe her, perhaps, if he wanted to cling to the idea of having grandchildren. But it wouldn’t be easy for him to acknowledge that the shortage of magical children might have something to do with the men, as well as the women.

“I think you’d better explain,” Whitehall said.

Emily swallowed hard. She didn’t dare tell him the truth. But what
should
she tell him?

“My tutor believed in following more than one branch of magic,” she said, finally. “He insisted on me learning everything he had to teach, ranging from spells like yours to potions and even runic alphabets. I used what he taught me to combine the different disciplines and keep my magic under control.”

Whitehall lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Yes, Master,” Emily said. It was true enough. “Brewing potions is excellent practice for using magic. Potions—the more advanced potions—simply don’t work unless you control the magic perfectly.”

“Getting male students to learn potions might be difficult,” Whitehall observed. He gave her a brilliant smile. “They see them as women’s work.”

“Then the students who do learn will have an advantage over those who don’t,” Emily said.

She took a breath. Did she dare? She’d already laid the groundwork ...

“Your problem, right now, is that you have only eight masters to service fifty apprentices,” she continued.

“
Nine
masters,” Whitehall corrected.

Emily nodded, acknowledging the mistake. “It can take five to ten years to tutor an apprentice properly,” she said. “In the time it will take for Bernard to gain his mastery, some of the other apprentices will have lost their powers or grown desperate enough to turn to demons and ask for help. And even if they don’t, they will have a great deal to unlearn before you can make something of them.”

She paused, just for a moment. “Matters aren’t helped by the fact that not all masters are equal,” she added. “Sake is already dealing with several apprentices because he can teach healing, but Master Wolfe and Master Bones have fewer candidates because most apprentices want to learn something
useful
—something they
see
as useful. Realistically speaking, you only have
six
masters because the remaining two have no apprentices.”

Whitehall frowned. “And you have a better idea?”

“I was taught the basics of several disciplines,” Emily said. “Do the same here—you have enough room, in this castle, to house an entire school. Name it after yourself! Get five or six apprentice students studying the same discipline, then move them to the next class and let them study a different discipline. Those who want to study healing have to spend an hour or so a day studying runic alphabets and spell circles too. It should give them a way to use one discipline to assist them in others.”

“I could see a number of masters refusing to teach several students at once,” Whitehall mused, thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want to teach more than two or three apprentices at once.”

“You’d have to keep demons out,” Emily added. She rather suspected that would appeal to him. “They couldn’t be allowed into the school.”

Whitehall scowled. “And why not?”

“Robin summoned a demon and asked for a light-spell,” Emily said. “The demon gave him a spell he didn’t understand—couldn’t understand, because he didn’t study spellwork—and let him use it, unaware that it was slopping magic everywhere. Robin ... is likely to go mad sooner rather than later because he’s been using that damned spell.”

“Master Wolfe rewrote it,” Whitehall said.

Emily met his eyes. “Is the rewritten version the one Robin is using?”

“... No,” Whitehall said.

Emily nodded. “Demons offer shortcuts to power,” she reminded him. “But their gifts come with a terrible price.”

Whitehall held up his hand. “I will take your words under advisement,” he said. “They will certainly need to be discussed with the other masters. Not all of them will want to share their secrets.”

Master Chambers
, Emily thought.
He won’t want to share anything
.

“I’m sure you can talk them into it,” Emily said.

“We will see,” Whitehall said. His voice hardened. “There is, however, a different matter to discuss. You taught my daughter magic.”